hey are! This wild star--it is now three centuries
since, with clasped hands, and with streaming eyes, at the feet of my
beloved--I spoke it--with a few passionate sentences--into birth. Its
brilliant flowers are the dearest of all unfulfilled dreams, and its
raging volcanoes are the passions of the most turbulent and unhallowed
of hearts.

THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA

"These; things are in the future."

Sophocles--Antig:

_ Una._ "Born again?"

_ Monos._ Yes, fairest and best beloved Una, "born again." These were
the words upon whose mystical meaning I had so long pondered, rejecting
the explanations of the priesthood, until Death himself resolved for me
the secret.

_Una._ Death!

_Monos._ How strangely, sweet Una, you echo my words! I observe, too,
a vacillation in your step--a joyous inquietude in your eyes. You are
confused and oppressed by the majestic novelty of the Life Eternal. Yes,
it was of Death I spoke. And here how singularly sounds that word which
of old was wont to bring terror to all hearts--throwing a mildew upon
all pleasures!

_ Una._ Ah, Death, the spectre which sate at all feasts! How often,
Monos, did we lose ourselves in speculations upon its nature! How
mysteriously did it act as a check to human bliss--saying unto it "thus
far, and no farther!" That earnest mutual love, my own Monos, which
burned within our bosoms how vainly did we flatter ourselves, feeling
happy in its first up-springing, that our happiness would strengthen
with its strength! Alas! as it grew, so grew in our hearts the dread of
that evil hour which was hurrying to separate us forever! Thus, in time,
it became painful to love. Hate would have been mercy then.

_ Monos._ Speak not here of these griefs, dear Una--mine, mine, forever
now!

_ Una._ But the memory of past sorrow--is it not present joy? I have
much to say yet of the things which have been. Above all, I burn to know
the incidents of your own passage through the dark Valley and Shadow.

_ Monos._ And when did the radiant Una ask anything of her Monos in
vain? I will be minute in relating all--but at what point shall the
weird narrative begin?

_Una._ At what point?

_Monos._ You have said.

_Una._ Monos, I comprehend you. In Death we have both learned the
propensity of man to define the indefinable. I will not say, then,
commence with the moment of life's cessation--but commence with that
sad, sad instant when, the fever ha